


The Slow Road

by darui



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 'you can see it if you squint' kind of shippy, Gen, THE FAM (early days), yaz gets two chapters and i will not apologise for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 10:17:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20505335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darui/pseuds/darui
Summary: So, what did the Fam get up to in the days we didn't see in TWWFTE? Maybe this.





	1. The Calm After the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> i swore i was going to finish this before classes started again, but it was also supposed to be a super short oneshot, so yeah. oh well

The last rays of the evening sun warmed Yaz’s back as she climbed the steps to a door she had passed by countless times over the years. The rain from the night before had only let up a few hours earlier, leaving puddles and a damp-earth smell in its wake. Around Yaz, however, was a buffer of aromatic warmth that emanated from the piping hot takeaway she carried. Shifting both bags to one hand, Yaz made to ring the doorbell, but before she could a familiar blonde in shirtsleeves flung open the door.

“Hiya, Yaz!” The Doctor beamed at her.

It was the kind of smile one can’t help but return, so Yaz did. “Doctor.” Yaz’s grin dimmed when she remembered why she was there. “How are they?”

The Doctor took a breath and looked out into the darkening street. “Grieving,” she finally answered, meeting Yaz’s eyes once more. Her lips tightened into a grim smile.

“Alright, Doctor?” Ryan’s voice drifted down from the top of the stairs.

She stepped aside to reveal their visitor. “Look! It’s Yaz!” Her grin was back at full wattage.

Yaz gave a small wave. “Hey, Ryan.”

“Hey.”

When he stepped into the wan light from the open door, Yaz got her first good look at him. He was obviously tired. The weight of loss bowed his shoulders and burdened his steps. If Yaz hadn’t known better, she would have placed his age well above his actual nineteen. Under different circumstances she might have chided him about his posture, or the deep shadows under his eyes.

As it was, she merely raised her plastic-bagged offerings and quirked an eyebrow. “Hope you like Chinese?”

She was rewarded with a small but genuine smile. “Yaz, you’re a star.” Ryan set off down the hall. “Graham,” he called into the house, “Yaz brought food!”

After a moment’s hesitation—and a quick succession of encouraging nods from the Doctor—Yaz followed him through.

Graham poked his head through a warm-lit doorway and motioned for Yaz to follow him. “In here.”

She entered the room as directed and found him clearing off the table. The Doctor slipped past her to lend a hand, grabbing books and magazines from where they were scattered on every surface.

Setting aside a small plastic tub, Graham came to greet Yaz properly. “Thanks for doing this,” he said, relieving her of the bags. “We really appreciate it.”

“It’s no trouble,” Yaz assured. “Can I help with anything?”

Graham eyed the teetering pile of print growing in the Doctor’s arms warily. “Mind making sure those end up on the shelf and not the floor?”

“Got it.”

Yaz set to work gathering the last of the magazines from the table. Ignoring the Doctor’s protests, she also nabbed some books from their precarious placement at the top of her stack. The Doctor strode confidently into the next room, managing to avoid knocking into anything despite the armful of books blocking her view. This became more impressive when Yaz realized that what she and the Doctor were carrying was merely overflow.

It was as if an experimental paper magnet had pulled every scrap of reading material in the house into that single space and then abruptly switched off, leaving everything to land where it may. Picking her way over to the Doctor, Yaz surveyed the scene in disbelief.

“What happened in here?”

The Doctor emptied her arms onto a chair with a great sigh and rested her hands on her hips. Taking in the state of the space as if for the first time, she turned to Yaz, her face scrunched up apologetically.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Yaz blinked at her as she began to pick books out of the pile to stick them on the shelf in an obviously deliberate but incomprehensible order.

“So you read,” Yaz finally said. She bent down to rescue an old, yellowed phone book from being trodden on. “...everything.”

She nearly dropped the book when the Doctor suddenly began rifling through the items she still held. After carefully considering her finds, the Doctor tossed both aside and instead bounded over to the coffee table to retrieve what appeared to be a photograph book from underneath her ragged suit jacket. She returned to the shelf in a couple hops, leaving the displaced jacket where it had fallen gracelessly on the floor. She slotted the book into place and looked triumphantly to Yaz, who had just finished picking up the discarded books for the second time. When her nonplussed expression didn’t shift, the Doctor sighed.

“Ryan forbade me from using his games console, computer, and the television,” she said defensively.

Yaz let out a small snort of laughter at that. Given what became of his phone, she didn’t blame Ryan for wanting the Doctor a safe distance from his electronics.

“Anyways,” the Doctor sniffed, “books are brilliant.”


	2. Yaz's Day

Late the next morning, Yaz returned. It was strange how a house she must have passed a million times over the years with nary a thought had suddenly become a place of significance to her; its inhabitants changing overnight from people she couldn’t pick out on the street to those with whom she could comfortably share a meal. Friends. That was why she was here for the third time in as many days: to help her friends.

There wasn’t much she could do to alleviate their grief, but she could at least give them some peace in which to process it. More specifically, she could distract the energetic blonde alien currently camped out in their sitting room.

That had been the plan, at least.

Said alien was now looking rather peaceful herself, slumped over on the dining table. There was a woolly blanket draped carefully over her shoulders, which rose and fell in the steady rhythm of sleep.

Graham joined Yaz in observing his guest as he nursed a steaming mug of tea. “Found her like this when I woke up,” he murmured. “I didn’t try to wake her.” He took a cautious sip. “Dunno how long she’s been out, but she sure kept herself busy.”

Yaz hummed in agreement.

The explosion of books she had helped tidy away the night before had been replaced by a slightly smaller storm of loose paper. Receipts, newspapers, takeaway napkins, flyers—sheets of all sizes littered the tabletop and floor around the sleeping figure. Each one was covered in drawings; hasty sketches of enough people, places, and things to fill a whole planet and then some. Yaz snagged a few from the rug where they had fallen.

A blocky, dog-like robot.

An unearthly landscape of impossible rock formations.

A long-haired woman who smirked through round-rimmed glasses and seemed strangely familiar.

A lone stalk of celery.

“I can’t make head nor tail of it,” Graham sighed, “but I’m afraid you’ve made a wasted trip. I won’t keep you if you’ve got other things to do.”

“Actually, I think I’ll stay,” Yaz said. “If that’s alright with you.”

Graham shrugged. “Suit yourself. Come find me if you need anything.” He saluted her with his mug before leaving her alone.

Well, almost.

Carefully gathering the rest of the fallen drawings, Yaz settled into the chair across from the Doctor to look through them. She recognized a few things, like the Empire State Building and Queen Victoria, but there was far more she didn’t have the slightest clue about. Gadgets and buildings and creatures of all sorts, and so many people.

Yaz set the papers aside in a neat stack, turned her attention across the table, and considered this person who called herself ‘the Doctor.’ Ryan had told her that before, when she had been asleep on his sofa, the Doctor had glowed with golden energy. He’d also mentioned an extra pulse, but she didn’t want to risk waking her to check. Staring at her now, all Yaz could see was an ordinary, slightly disheveled woman. In that moment, she could almost believe she had dreamed up the past few days.

Settling her chin in her hands, Yaz closed her eyes. She hadn’t been lying then she told Ryan she believed the Doctor was an alien. She trusted her friends, and she’d seen enough that her claim was perfectly believable. In a universe with flying balls of writhing cables and blue-skinned warriors with skin cold enough to kill, why couldn’t an eccentric Yorkshirewoman who crashed through metal train roofs and glowed golden be an alien?

She huffed a quiet laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

On top of that, the Doctor had yet to lie to her or any of the others. What she said hadn’t always been reassuring, or even right, but it was always true. Yaz appreciated the Doctor’s candid approach, but it also worried her. What kind of life had she led to allow her to speak so frankly of danger and death?

Yaz sighed. Enough of that. She opened her eyes to…do something. Whatever she had been planning evaporated from her mind when she found the very person she had been considering doing the same to her, a strange gravity emanating from her gaze. Silence stretched between them until, after an inestimable moment, Yaz blinked.

The Doctor smiled, the twinkle in her eyes obscuring their depths once more. “Morning!”

Repressing the desire to shake her head in exasperation, Yaz settled for raising her eyebrows. “Finally wore yourself out, did you?” A smile twitched at her lips when she noticed the fabric-patterned lines imprinted on the Doctor’s cheek in pink.

“Must’ve been the last stages of regeneration,” the Doctor replied casually, standing and stretching. She bent to collect the blanket and folded it haphazardly. “I reckon that’ll do me for the next few days at least.”

More questions. Yaz set them aside for another time. “What are all these pictures?” She asked instead.

“They’re me,” answered the Doctor, dropping the blanket onto the chair to shuffle through her handiwork, pausing on a drawing of a smiling young woman with bright, intelligent eyes and a bow perched atop a bold puff of hair. “My memories.” The look from before was back, fathomless and faraway.

“I could find you an envelope or something to put them in?” Yaz offered hesitantly. This quiet Doctor was so at odds with what she’d come to expect; she wasn’t sure of what she should do.

The Doctor surfaced from her thoughts and wrinkled her nose. “That won’t be necessary. Thanks, though.” She began pushing the papers into a messy pile. “It was just a good way to pass the time.”

“If you say so...” It was clear there was more to it than that, but Yaz could tell that was all the Doctor was willing to say. Her head still swirled with questions, but it they would have to go unanswered for now. Yaz pushed them aside and picked out the new things she had learned and filed them away. The Doctor was far from an open book, but Yaz was patient. She only hoped she would have the time she needed.


	3. Ryan's Day

The Doctor had discovered the record player.

Ryan supposed it had only been a matter of time. Honestly, considering her tendency to get into everything, he was a little surprised it had taken this long. He reached for his phone to check the time.

She’d even managed to wait until a reasonable time, too! Wonders never cease.

He’d found the phone on the floor at the entrance to his room the morning after everything. It had been reset to its factory settings, completely blank save for an unnamed track that was 22 minutes and seven seconds of what sounded like an underwater opera. He’d tried deleting it after restoring his data, but to no avail.

He also hadn’t needed to recharge the battery for days, so he supposed it was a decent trade off.

Following the strains of classical music downstairs, Ryan found the Doctor draped diagonally over the sofa. Her head, dangling over the edge nearest to him, was framed by blonde hair that floofed out ridiculously as it tried and failed to resist the pull of gravity. Both arms swayed in the air like river reeds as she attempted to conduct an orchestra behind closed eyelids. When he took another step into the room, her eyes shot open.

“Good morning, Ryan!”

“Morning. Have you seen Graham?”

The Doctor clambered to her feet. “Out back, I think. It’s a lovely day for it!”

“Thanks.”

Glancing outside on his way to the kitchen, Ryan had to agree. Late morning sun flooded the garden and seeped through the windows. Perfect weather for what he had planned.

After wolfing down a quick breakfast, Ryan poked his head out to see that at some point the Doctor had joined Graham in the cool September air.

“Graham,” Ryan called, pulling the older man’s attention from whatever the Doctor had been saying, “I’m going out. Be back later.”

“Alright,” Graham replied, “Be careful, son.”

Ryan rolled his eyes at the endearment, but nonetheless agreed.

The Doctor piped up hopefully from beside Graham. “Can I come?”

“If you want,” Ryan shrugged. “Hope you like walking.”

As it turned out, the Doctor did like walking. In fact, she seemed to love it. Ryan had never seen anyone approach a quiet residential street with anything near the amount of zeal he had just witnessed. As he strolled past familiar houses and hedges, the Doctor darted from one fascination to the next.

Sometimes she shot ahead of him, and sometimes she fell behind, but she always stayed near enough that he could hear her unbroken commentary. From the symbolism in old English heraldry to the geological processes that form slate to her top five favorite topiary gardens—the Doctor never seemed to run out of things to say.

If Ryan had made this walk alone, he would have spent the entire time immersed in his music. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the Doctor’s steady stream of chatter functioned in much the same way; distraction without the expectation of interaction. She seemed perfectly happy to carry on by herself, not even faltering when their path began to take them uphill.

Having the Doctor along also came with the additional entertainment of seeing how the few people they came across reacted to someone who looked and acted like she’d just been spit out of a caffeinated tornado.

The Doctor never once asked where Ryan was leading them, not even when they turned off onto a narrow footpath, or when they left that to pick their way through fallen branches and prickly undergrowth. Ryan though she must have figured it out by then, but she seemed genuinely surprised when he came to a stop in the clearing, almost running into him as she tried to explain the chemistry behind stained glass.

“Have we arrived?” The first question she’d asked since they had left the house.

“Yeah.”

The Doctor squinted at the ground before scanning the rest of the area. “Amazing what difference a bit of sunlight makes, eh?”

Ryan hummed in acknowledgement, but his attention was fixed above. Hands on hips, the Doctor joined him to peer up at the bicycle that still hung there.

“How d’you plan on getting it down?”

The bicycle was caught on the upper branches of a young tree. The slender trunk bowed in an arc beneath the weight of the metal frame. Eyeing the angle of the trunk, Ryan pieced together a plan.

“I reckon this tree can go a little bit further without breaking. If I pull it down and hold it there, you can get the bike out.” Ryan turned to the Doctor, who was nodding agreeably. “What do you think?”

“Let’s give it a go!” she replied with characteristic enthusiasm.

Getting into position beneath the lowest-hanging branch, Ryan took a deep breath. “I really hope this doesn’t make it fall on me,” he muttered.

“You’ll be fine!” The Doctor called from a few paces away, following up with a grin and a thumbs up.

With one last roll of the shoulders, Ryan leapt.

And missed.

At least he’d managed to land properly.

Shuffling his feet in the leaf litter, Ryan focused on the exact spot he wanted to grab.

Wound up.

Jumped.

Success! Ryan stuck the landing once more, amidst a flurry of displaced leaves. This time he had the branch held in a vice-like grip. He carefully pulled the tree lower, bringing the bicycle within reach. The Doctor made quick work of freeing it from its twiggy prison.

Once she and the bike were a safe distance away, Ryan released the tree, triggering another shower of leaves as it whipped back to its original position.

“Always wanted to do that,” he said gleefully.

The Doctor just laughed.

Later, in his bed once more, Ryan contemplated his day. He was tired and sore, and he hadn’t accomplished what he had hoped to, but somehow he also felt lighter than he’d felt in days. There was still a hole in his world, but it didn’t eat up the light the way it used to. _Maybe_, he thought, _it’ll be ok_.


	4. Graham's Night

It was very late.

The house was dark save for a single lamp, which illuminated Graham’s corner of the sitting room. Or, rather, the corner he was currently occupying because it hurt too much to see it empty. Grace’s corner.

It had been a long, emotional day—the latest in a line of long, emotional days—but sleep evaded him. The memorial service had been lovely, and he really was grateful for the people who had come to support him and Ryan, but it had taken its toll on him in ways that the hours spent grieving alone hadn’t. There was a finality that came with the world acknowledging your pain. An inevitability.

_My condolences._

_I’m sorry for your loss._

It didn’t feel like a singular loss. It was more than that. It was a million tiny moments that he would never have. Moments with her. Her laugh at the look on his face after tasting a dish she had deliberately made a tad too spicy. Her warmth at his side as they walked through the park. The click of her knitting needles as he read the newspaper. Nothing more than memories now.

Graham reached into the basket beside the armchair and pulled Grace’s current project into his lap. He stared down at the neat rows of soft yarn and well-loved needles that shone in the soft light. _Her last project._

The exhaustion of the past few days hit him all at once, and he closed his eyes with a drawn-out sigh. It did him no good to be like this, alone with his thoughts in the dark. He knew that. What he needed was a nice, calming cup of chamomile and then, maybe, he could try to actually sleep, he decided.

All thoughts of sleep were banished when he opened his eyes to see a wispy, shadowy figure silhouetted against the moonlit back window.

“Flippin’ hell!” He jerked back in the chair, fumbling with the knitting needles. First aliens, now this? What was the world coming to?

His panic dissipated when the shadow began apologising.

“I’m so sorry, Graham! I thought you were asleep.” The Doctor stepped into the lamplight, the very picture of regret. “Didn’t want to wake you. Humans usually don’t like when I do that.”

Not a ghost, then. Just an alien. Graham chuckled and shook his head. ‘Just’ an alien.

“Yaz is right,” he said with a kind smile, “those clothes don’t do you any favours.”

She wrinkled her nose as she picked at a shirt cuff. It dangled sadly, almost completely detached from its sleeve. “Yeah, they don’t fit as well as they used to.” The scrap of fabric finally gave up the ghost. The Doctor hastily stuffed it into her pocket. “Time for a change,” she said with an abashed smile.

Hauling himself to his feet, Graham set off for the kitchen. “No offense, Doc, but I can’t imagine them ever fitting you well.”

“Oi!”

Graham shot her a look before raising his eyes pointedly at the ceiling.

“I told you!” The Doctor continued in a lower voice, gesturing vaguely around her face. “I didn’t always look like this! I used to be taller, and greyer. More Scottish.” Almost as an afterthought, she added, “And a bloke.”

Processing silently, Graham busied himself putting the kettle on and pulling various supplies out onto the counter. His working definition of ‘impossible’ had undergone a massive overhaul in the past few days, but some things were still difficult to wrap his head around, even if he did believe they were true. Instead of chasing answers he probably wasn’t ready for, he opted for a simpler question.

“Tea?”

“Ooh, yes, thanks!”

Graham smiled. Alien she may be, but her approach to tea was very British. Reaching onto the shelf, he brought down another mug only to realize he’d already put out two.

His face fell. Picking up Grace’s mug, he turned it over reverently in his hands, taking in every detail before carefully placing it back in its place on the shelf.

He allowed himself a short minute of grief, but immediately distracted himself with tea-making when the kettle began to whistle, hastily moving it before the noise disturbed his sleeping grandson.

The Doctor stared intently at the tea as it steeped and, when Graham finally handed over her mug, gleefully added a considerable dollop of honey. He watched from where he stood a couple paces away as the vigor with which she stirred sent waves of tea lapping dangerously close to the rim of the mug. Miraculously, not a drop was spilt. Taking a cautious sip from his own mug, Graham leaned against the kitchen counter.

“I do remember what you said, back in that warehouse,” Graham broke the silence. “You said you didn’t know who you were yet.”

The Doctor hummed into her mug, watching him over the rim.

“I don’t think I know who I am anymore,” he admitted, haltingly. ”Without her. Today, at the memorial, I talked to so many people, but it was like I was on autopilot. I talked to them, but I didn’t say anything.” He looked into deep, silent eyes, but couldn’t hold contact for more than a few seconds. “You’re right; it’s terrifying.” He gazed pensively into his tea. “How- How do you...”

He sighed and trailed off, unable to put what he sought for into words.

At first, there was no response. They drank their tea in companionable silence. Finally, after some consideration, the Doctor spoke.

“It takes time, and hope. Eventually you stop falling into the holes they leave behind, and that can be scary because it feels like forgetting. Because even though they hurt, each fall is a reminder, and without that they might just fade away completely.”

“Except they don’t, do they? Not the ones who matter.”

The Doctor’s smile was warm. “No. Not as long as we keep living.”

“So we carry on.” Graham swirled the last of his tea in the bottom of the mug before downing it. “I think I can manage that.”

A yawn overtook him as he rinsed out the mug and set it to dry. Glancing at the clock, he winced. “I’m gonna turn in,” he said, stifling another yawn. “‘Night, Doc.”

“Goodnight, Graham.”

As he prepared to sleep, Graham couldn’t help but wonder how much loss a person must suffer to be able to speak of it the way the Doctor did.


	5. The End (Or Not)

The Doctor strode into the empty warehouse with an extra spring in her step and her three new friends in tow. It was a wonder what difference some properly-fitting boots made. Those, plus her new swishy coat? It was like she was a whole new person! Well, more like they just cemented the fact that she was that, in a way. Anyways, moving on.

Surveying the materials at her disposal, the Doctor grinned. She had learned from Yaz that the area had been cordoned off by the police while the looked into Rahul’s death, but by some miracle none of the Stenza pod had been removed. Normally, such careless handling of alien technology would be a cause for concern, but in this instance it was a boon. It certainly made the next bit easier. She supposed the mess she had made of the pod could have made it difficult to identify as extraterrestrial, but still, perhaps once she found her TARDIS she would come back and give Kate some notes.

The thought of her ship brought the Doctor back to the task at hand. She had had more than enough time over the past few days to decide on a retrieval plan. Now, it was just a matter of making it happen. She began digging through the debris in search of parts.

"Are you gonna build a teleport?" Ryan appeared at her shoulder, peering over at the jumble of electronics.

"Eventually, yes." She examined a vaguely Lego-looking piece and tossed it aside. "Well, sort of." Swiping a final component out of Ryan's curious hands, she made a beeline for the nearest clear work space.

"Can we help with anything?" Yaz piped up as she trailed behind her and Ryan.

The Doctor paused for a moment before continuing to roll up her sleeves. "There are a few things I'll need that are scattered around here. D’you mind finding them and bringing them here while I work on this lot?" She jerked her head at the pile she'd brought to the table.

"On it," Ryan said.

Yaz nodded. "What do you need?"

The Doctor relayed a list of items and watched fondly as Yaz and Ryan set off, arguing about where they should look first. Such bright, young humans. Under different circumstances... She shook her head. What ifs could wait. Pulling out her sonic, the Doctor got to work.

She was broken out of her concentration a short while later when Graham hefted a coil of brightly-coloured cables onto the table.

"I remembered seeing these the other night," he said in ways of an explanation. "Reckon they'll do?"

"Perfect." The Doctor pulled them towards her and began fiddling with a connector. "Thank you," she said, not looking up from her work. "For this and for everything else."

Graham gave a small, lopsided shrug, which the Doctor did not see, and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Anyone halfway decent would've done the same."

The Doctor set down her sonic and looked him in the eye, serious. "You've been very kind, and I'm very grateful." She stared to make sure he believed her before cracking a smile.

Graham returned the smile, nodding in acknowledgement. "Just don’t go recommending me to you alien mates," he quipped. "I'm not running a bed and breakfast here."

"Fair enough," the Doctor chuckled.

"Doctor!" Ryan reappeared from the back room with an incongruously shiny microwave oven. "This one?"

"Yes! Perfect timing."

Ryan carefully brought the appliance to the Doctor, who received it with glee. She had gotten as far as tearing the back open and pulling out some wires before she looked up again. Something was off. She cast her eyes warehouse and realized that she was missing a friend.

"Where's Yaz?"

Ryan shrugged. "We split up to find stuff."

"Yaz!" Graham called out. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine!" The voice drifted out of a cluttered corner, from which the human in question emerged a moment later. She was laden with what must have been every remaining item the Doctor had asked for.

The Doctor jogged over and relieved her of some of the load, feeling a little guilty for the long list of requests, but equally impressed at Yaz for finding them.

"There's an alright-looking telly back there," Yaz informed her as they walked to the others. "Think you could use it?"

"Might do, yeah. Nice work, Yaz!"

Ryan immediately headed for the corner at a jog. "I got it!"

Before long, a clunky television joined the host of gutted electronics on the table. Ryan, eager to learn about actual alien technology, relentlessly asked for ways to help. Unfortunately for him, the Doctor had become unusually reticent. Half of her wanted so badly to answer his every question in detail, but the other half had realised that the more her friends helped her, she sooner she'd be without them, so she mostly ended up asking him to hold things as she worked.

Finally, a little over an hour after their arrival to the warehouse, the Doctor took a step back and gave her handiwork an approving nod. Yaz peered at the table, trying to make sense of the chaos, but all she saw was mess. Graham rose from the chair he had salvaged with a grunt and wandered back over.

"Have you finished?" Yaz asked uncertainly.

The Doctor reached over to tweak a wire. "Just about." Satisfied with her adjustment, she grabbed an armful of bits and bobs from the table and strode over to join them with Ryan close behind. "Hold these please," she said, keeping her eyes down as she distributed the items. "I'm gonna need your help with the last bit. I've just got to reprogram the pod and we'll be set." Turning away from the bewildered humans, she returned to her workspace to tap at the main control unit.

"And how long will that take?" Graham asked.

Infusing her voice with cheer she did not feel, the Doctor called back, "Won't be a mo'!"

As anxious as she was to be reunited with her beloved TARDIS, the prospect of setting off on her own again was less than inviting.

Half an hour later, the Doctor had twisted the infuriating Stenza software into something she could work with. Perhaps she had run a few more checks than were entirely necessary, but her friends did not need to know that, especially since it would only justify Graham's grumbling.

She steeled herself to look at her new friends again as she directed them through the final steps. They deserved that much. She'd learned their faces, these first friends of this face, so she could easily read their expressions.

Worry. Apprehension. Excitement.

"I'm almost gonna miss ya."

No, she already missed them. But maybe saying even that must have been a mistake, because their faces changed and she saw herself reflected in them.

Sad fondness and the sudden reality of goodbye.

It was as if they could hear her thoughts. Or maybe this new face of hers had given them away. She hadn’t yet gotten a feel for it. No time to figure out which; the clock was literally ticking. Just time for a goodbye, and a breath, and then they were gone.

Except they weren't.

And suddenly loneliness was very low on the Doctor's list of problems.

**Author's Note:**

> i was feeling supremely unproductive during the holidays and decided to try my hand at fic. this was me attempting to get a feel for the characters. still not quite sure if i succeeded, but i decided to post it anyways because dammit i came this far!!!
> 
> anyways thanks for reading!


End file.
